


worth every second

by cakoir



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: AU where only Chris talks to Josh and accepts him after the events on Blackwood, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Climbing Class, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Character Death, Panic Attacks, chris being supportive as hell, josh struggling with guilt and insecurities, non detailed mentions of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakoir/pseuds/cakoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh wasn't mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worth every second

**Author's Note:**

> hello there and thanks for reading! this is my first fic for the Until Dawn fandom and like many of you i have fallen for Josh (and also Rami Malek.) i wanted to write something that did not romanticize what he and so many others struggle with on a daily basis, myself included. this is referenced from my own experiences, and does not represent every person who suffers from mental illness. as i was writing it, i really wanted to convey how chaotic and disorderly the brain can be during a panic attack. i hope you enjoy this angsty fluffy bs!

Josh wasn’t mad.

He really wasn’t, and he was trying to tell himself that desperately. What had Dr. Hill said again? Anger stems from insecurities and sadness. Josh tried to recall the therapy session which he had learned that in, but his head was full of fog and static. That seemed like lifetimes ago.

Josh didn’t get angry much after the incident on Blackwood. Consumed by guilt and struggling with relapse, parts of his emotional stock were missing. It’d be easy to say that his reserve of empathy had been completely absent during the second visit to the lodge. Upon coming back and seeing the things Josh had–seeing his wrongdoings and pain, and to him, the death he had caused–it terminated any thought of him being in the right.

The start of his medication (again) and the eventual regaining of his lucid self had been a struggle, to say the least. It wasn’t like Josh was _never_ “there” during his immediate recovery. The real Josh, the confident, laid-back jokester, appeared from time to time. He would be with his mom, listening to her attempt at a normal conversation about dinner, when he would snap back into the sanity he once felt he had. He would _smile_ and it wouldn’t be so manic. It would be like him and the twins were waiting for mom to finish breakfast, all of their eager eyes following the plates of eggs and sausage placed before them.

But the twins’ eyes were glazed over, white, accompanied by the overwhelming presence of vicious teeth. The sausage on his plate was the intestines of the pigs he gutted himself. The pigs he gutted to hurt his friends.

The smile was gone.

Josh startled himself into the present with that thought, and the overwhelming sense of betrayal and anger rushed back to him. He wasn’t sure for a moment. Why was he angry at Chris again?

In his mind’s eye he could see the events of that previous evening unfolding. Chris and Josh both helped put together a simple college style meal, but picked up organic ingredients beforehand. Chris had made a show of his knowledge about pesticides and non-GMO products. There was whole wheat pasta cooling in a colander and homemade tomato sauce bubbling on the stove, and Josh could distinctly remember the aroma of baking garlic bread in the kitchen.

It was spaghetti. It really wasn’t anything special, except that the ingredients were a little better for them. Josh and Chris were both trying so damn hard to feel normal after what happened though–trying to treat themselves, have some semblance of a “date night.”

Josh thought it _was_ a very good meal, a very good evening in general, actually. He finished most of his plate with minimal guilt and he and Chris had mutual flirty gazes being exchanged every minute. It felt… sane. It felt human. It felt _real_.

That’s why Josh was pissed. Last night was one of the best nights he had experienced in a long time. No panic attacks, little invasion of depressive thoughts. However…

Chris said he would do the dishes.

The dishes were undone.

Was that even the word for it? Josh was having a hard time stringing entirely coherent thoughts together without interrupting himself and reexamining every word. Words were starting to sound funny in his head the more he said them. He really didn’t feel comfortable feeling angry. Josh didn’t feel comfortable experiencing most emotions, at this point. Everything felt twisted or far away, and how could he deserve to feel something valid after what he did?

No, no, he was mad. Chris had definitely said he would do the dishes before Josh got home from his daily walk in the morning. Maybe he had even promised–okay, no, Chris didn’t make any sort of promise. But it sure felt like one.

There was a pit in his stomach as he stared at the smeared spaghetti sauce in the sink. He felt sick. This is where it had started. It looked too red. It looked a lot like blood. A lot like things that reminded him of other things. And even thinking about those things and giving them names was giving them too much power in his brain.

Josh tried to block the disgust welling in his throat. He couldn’t stop staring. He was sure his hands were trembling. It wouldn’t be anything new. He wanted to whine out, he wanted to release every scared whimper that clawed against the back of his teeth.

He was mad because Chris should have known. He should have, he definitely should have. Chris was a smart guy, didn’t he know spaghetti sauce looked like blood? Especially when it was dried on the plates like that. It was red, a red that really looked like blood, and he couldn’t stand it.

Josh’s throat was constricting. Josh told himself to be mad at Chris. That was the frame of mind where he was trying to take himself. He felt saliva welling in his mouth, a sure sign that he was going to puke. The more he lied to himself, the more nauseas he felt.

He needed to remember what Dr. Hill said. He didn’t need to be mad at Chris. Chris didn’t know. Josh and Chris stayed up late playing video games after dinner—it was part of what had made the evening so great. Chris was tired and could do them later.

The real reason Josh was upset and mad was because he created these problems—these insecurities—for himself. He was the one who single-handedly stuffed prosthetic parts with intestines. He was the one who was at fault for traumatizing his friends. He was the one who was too drunk to search for Hannah and Beth.

Anger stems from insecurities and sadness.

Maybe Chris didn’t wash the dishes because he was mad at Josh. Maybe he realized Josh was too much for him to handle. Maybe this was his way of saying he was done and he wouldn’t take care of Josh anymore.

“Oh, God.” Josh’s voice weeped out of his throat and at the same time he crumpled to the ground, his once strong arms and legs completely giving out beneath him. He couldn’t stand it if Chris left him. Chris was the only one who took him back after he betrayed everyone. Chris was the one who’d been by him almost his whole life. Chris felt like his sanity at times.

Josh was in a ball for a half hour. Moments blended together like he had a fever. He could hear his heartbeat being played to the tune of the Legend of Zelda theme song. Josh thought that was probably the game him and Chris played yesterday, but he wasn’t sure past some point. Memories betrayed him a lot.

Josh had completely forgotten that Chris was home today once he had stepped into the kitchen and his eyes landed upon the dishes. A certain blonde with the bedhead of peacock came groggily into the room, placing his glasses on his nose, unnoticed by the shallowly breathing lump in the middle of the linoleum.

“Josh!” Chris’ voice snapped into Josh’s head and he let out another heaving sob, not prepared for the berating that he was going to receive–but completely aware that he deserved it, with every inch of his being. Josh’s body jerked away from the sound, his arms tightening around his head as he still attempted to open his chest up for more oxygen.

Chris hadn’t always been very talented at helping his friends through panic attacks, but he started to learn as soon as he saw Josh have his first one when they were in middle school. Chris had been taught by Josh himself how to help him through a panic attack, depending on how severe they were and if they were triggered by anything. Mentally apologizing for his first shout of Josh’s name, as yelling scared him, Chris lowered himself to the floor in front of the quivering figure with soothing tones rumbling from his still sleep ridden throat. He was in his pajamas, the matching pastel yellow set he always got made fun of for.

“Josh, it’s Chris. You’re in the kitchen of our apartment. It’s the morning. It’s…” Chris glanced at his watch, “It’s May 5th, at 9:31am.”

Chris’ hesitant hands drew one arm from Josh’s face, revealing a single, wide, bloodshot eye. Josh’s skin was flushed and visibly sticky. There was the wetness of tears puddled around his eyes. How long had he been here? How long was he into his hyperventilating? Chris had to try to ground him. Josh had yet to make any intelligible response.

“Josh, it’s me, Chris. We’re back. We’re at our apartment on Howell Street, remember?”

Josh made a sort of gurgling sound with the spit in his mouth, trying to lick his cracked lips. Breathing through his mouth this often did a number on them. Chris watched Josh’s single eye dart around, rapidly focusing on different parts of the pajamas and limbs in front of him. He looked like a scared animal going through every possible escape route.

Chris touched the tips of his fingers to the remaining hand threaded in Josh’s hair, watching the appendage jump in terror before turn and grab Chris’ hand with all his strength. The movement revealed Josh’s other eye, and the crying boy finally had a full view of who was in front of him.

Josh usually would have been relieved at the sight of his best friend, but this figure caused a stir of emotions in him he literally couldn’t handle. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes to escape the probability of him vomiting on his boyfriend–but then images of spindly white creatures screeching in the cold flashed behind his eyelids, and he snapped them back open as quickly as he could. It was too late for Chris’ knees, unfortunately.

“I’m sorry–” Josh choked out around his projectile, tremors running harder through his body than before. His lips upturned in what was possibly a smile, “C-Cochise, your pajamas–”

His face fell and he hacked and coughed again, losing his supply of air for more than a second, but he was determined to finish his joke.

“–got what they deserved.”

Josh let his head rest against the floor as his body did what it wanted, relinquishing control. Part of him was okay now that he’d managed to make one last joke before Chris destroyed him. Humor was how he coped, and not only was Chris finally going to obliterate him for being a bad person, but Josh ruined his favorite nightwear. There was a negative possibility of survival now.

“You never cease to amaze me.” Chris chided mostly to himself, gently placing his wide palm on Josh’s back. He lifted them out of the mess, narrowly avoiding stepping in it. Chris would clean that later. For now, he focused on getting Josh’s shaking body to a safe place. He quickly realized that his boyfriend would not be able to stand or even hobble to their destination, and Chris thanked the lord that not only was he smart, but buff as hell.

Maybe not buff as hell, but he was strong enough to carry his boyfriend in need. In a time of so much pain, he could at least allow himself to think that was pretty cool.

Chris stripped his pants and left them in the kitchen floor, maneuvering all of this with his arm around Josh’s waist and the man’s full weight against his side. He took the moaning and whimpering Josh to their bedroom, laid him down in the bed, and fetched supplies as quickly as his feet could carry him.

He got his “Josh kit”–the group of comfort items that could best help Josh during this time. Chris set down a glass of water, wet towels, and medication on the nightstand, moving jerkily to scoot a trash can beside the bed at the same time. The best thing Chris could do was stay calm, he reminded himself. It would be of no use to Josh if his caretaker panicked too.

Watching his boyfriend writhe in pain from the corner of his eye, though… How could his own heartbeat not pick up? No matter how many times he did this, he was terrified he would lose Josh each time. He buried that fear so, so deep–but it was there, reflected in the way his eyes were glassy and his posture tight.

Chris set about approaching Josh again, making sure he sat in front of him with no aggressive movements. Josh hadn’t improved much since he’d been laid down, only cry with high whines and shake and clutch at the comforter below him. The blonde man brought a damp towel to Josh’s lips, his hand inching towards Josh’s hand at the same time.

As soon as their skin made contact, Josh let out a sharp yell muted by the towel cleaning his vomit. In the time Chris had taken to gather materials, Josh had come to an absolute decision that Chris would never come back to him and hated him forever. Any touch was an attack. Any touch felt filthy, even though he loved this man with his whole heart.

Chris jumped and adjusted his glasses nervously, but he was persistent, glancing at the medication still resting on the nightstand. Josh didn’t like to take medication for his panic attacks. What he was prescribed was so strong it made him fall asleep, and falling asleep with his thoughts like this did not result in a happy wake up. Josh had told Chris many times to use them as a last resort.

The air in the room felt sweaty and electric in the worst way–suffocating. Josh was trying to flip away from Chris, unsuccessfully. He was terrified, he was coughing on every other inhale, and he was convinced he was going to die.

Trying his next approach, Chris laid down on the bed behind Josh and took a hold of his shoulders. He tamed the anxious man’s legs by intertwining their limbs and rubbed his hands up and down the contours of Josh’s arms.

Chris swallowed and began murmuring, “Josh, it’s me. It’s Chris. Try and breathe for me. I’ll walk you through it, I’m right here the whole time. I’m right behind you. I love you.”

The level and genuine tone of his voice made Josh hiccup in his crying before sobbing even harder, struggling twitchily away from his partner.

“Chris, I,” He took in a huge, shaky gulp of air, “I love, I love you so much, please, I’m sorry, every day I’m–”

Chris had already made the decision to let him finish and not say anything, but Josh cut himself off with his tears. There was a harsh inhale and Josh’s whole body tensed, and then Chris watched his boyfriend throw half of his torso over the bed and narrowly aim his puke for the garbage can. Neither of the men present knew if he made the basket.

Josh kept his body where it was, his voice growing small and squeaky. “Chris, Chris, I don’t want to be hurt, I’m sorry, I’ll do the dishes, I was scared of the blood, but I’m sorry, if you just won’t hurt–”

He grabbed his head in pain. “No! I, I deserve… I’m sorry,”

“Josh. I’m not angry at you.” Chris intervened, seeing that Josh’s head would keep on spinning if he didn’t. Josh started mumbling to himself in between small sobs, trying to make his body seem smaller than it was. Chris’ frown deepened with concern but he pushed onward. What was he saying about the dishes?

Shit. Chris had said he was going to do those. He immediately started calculating a list of all the ways Josh could have been hurt or upset by the dishes being undone. As much as he would’ve liked to know right off the bat what pattern of thinking Josh was experiencing, things weren’t that easy. Mental illness didn’t make sense. There wasn’t much common sense going on in a brain that was live wired with the instinct to fight or fly.

All Chris could do was support him endlessly.

“Josh, listen to me,” Chris started off slowly and gently, trying to look Josh in the eyes. “The reason I didn’t do the dishes was because I slept in. I know I said I’d do them before you got back from your walk. I’m sorry that didn’t happen.”

Josh’s eyes had darted to his partner’s mouth, watching all of these words be communicated with different positions of Chris’ lips and tongue. He didn’t immediately comprehend what was being said to him. There was a lag in his brain by at least ten seconds, and when he realized, he drew his lips together tightly to keep his sound in. Josh looked at Chris’ honest face, and although his vision was blurry, he could see the absolute adoration.

Chris was too good for him.

“There was… There’s blood—in the sink.” Josh whispered, looking down with fear and shame. “You… you didn’t put it there for me, right? I-I know you didn’t, there’s…”

He broke off into rambles again, putting one palm against the center of his forehead like he was fighting off a headache. If only it were as easy as taking a few aspirin.

“Christopher,” Josh squeaked, staring right at him with his shallowed breaths and sweaty body. “I’m scared, I’m really scared. Don’t go.”

With the admittance of the core problem, Josh broke down into hearty sobs, wrapping his shaking arms around himself and shedding tears like the ones he would as an infant. Pure, harvested sadness emitted from his being and Chris thought he too might cry. Chris could do nothing except what instinct told him to: hug his boyfriend, his best friend, until there wasn’t a single cry left.

He did just that, and the two laid there in the bed for a while, rocking and shushing, hiccupping, explaining and re-explaining—laying their souls out for each other. Eventually, Josh’s chest returned to a normal up-and-down pace. His eyes were closed from pure exhaustion, his mouth was hanging open and the stale smell of vomit was so close to Chris’ nostrils. He didn’t care. He knew these moments weren’t pretty. He’d known the moment he found out about Josh’s mental illness that it wasn’t pretty.

He didn’t _care_.

“I love you, Josh. I promise. With… with every fiber of my being, I promise you.” He whispered into his partner’s chocolate hair, stroking his back slowly and lovingly. Chris wasn’t sure if Josh was even awake at this point. He deserved to sleep anyway. It was okay if Josh didn’t hear it this time. Chris was going to be around to say it again and again, every day, until he died.

\---

“Thank you.” Josh croaked out when he awoke again at 5PM. The moment he cracked open his eyes he saw Chris sitting in bed beside him on his phone—also snuggly under the covers, like Josh. In Josh’s arms was his favorite (and only) stuffed animal, a dirtied manta ray Chris had bought him on an aquarium date.

As soon as Chris heard the voice he all but dropped his phone and gave his full attention to the source of sound. Chris didn’t want to overwhelm the man, so he resisted touching him at first. He settled with a smile and a warm, “Good morning.”

Josh smiled tiredly and let his eyes close again, squeezing his stuffed animal just a little tighter. They listened to Josh’s deep breathing in the quiet of the room for a few minutes, both appreciating the much calmer, slower rhythm. Eventually Josh felt a hand approaching him and fingers land in his hair, smoothing back his short locks.

There wasn’t anything that either of them could think to say. Neither felt the need to apologize for what happened during this precious moment of stillness. They knew the other tried their best. They trusted that. Chris would prod Josh for a small explanation of what happened, and they would discuss, but it could be saved for later.

Things were coming back to Josh slowly, like he was wading through a thick sludge of memories of his panic attack. He hadn’t been able to focus at that time, but now he could remember all of the steps Chris took to take care of him, all of the gentle touches, all of the effort and energy he put into making sure Josh felt safe. He was immensely grateful. Gratitude filled his body and heart and soul until it ached, until it overflowed and spilled out in a few small tears down his sleepy, flushed cheeks.

The hand in his hair eased down onto his back and at the same time, Chris murmured a low, “Shhh…”

“Thank you.” Josh’s voice was raw, his eyes were squeezed shut, he was biting the inside of his cheek trying not to cry more. He clutched his stuffed animal and leaned his head into Chris’ side, nuzzling him in the small, jerky way that he did. His head was still fuzzy.

Chris slid down into the covers further and put his skull against Josh’s, his glasses bumping the other’s nose. Josh opened his green eyes in response and they stared at each other, entire galaxies of love, affection and trust passed between their starry eyes.

Yeah, Chris definitely didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for taking a look, kudos and comments and discussions about UD always appreciated! 
> 
> http://cakoir.tumblr.com


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